Frills
by absolutelycancerous
Summary: So, maybe she wasn't prepared for this.


So maybe she wasn't prepared for this.

Now is the time for doubt, as she hears the front door open and Soul shuffle in, yelling out that "I'm home!" and toeing off his shoes at the door. Maka makes a dive for the covers, feels so terribly _weird_, and pulls the comforter up to the bottom of her nose, waiting for the moment when he'll step through the door.

He's explaining that he got something to eat on the way home, sorry if she cooked something, and sorry he's late, and he's about to go into _why_ he's home later than usual, but her opens the door and stares at her. Confusion makes his eyebrows arch, but it's curiosity that makes his lips curl in a smile as he closes the door behind him and slowly stalks his way towards the bed where she's taking cover.

"What's all this?"

She's sure her face, the visible part he can see, anyway, is red as all hell. "Nothing."

She rubs her toes together under the blankets shyly as Soul presses his knees against the edge of the mattress, on his hands and knees, slowly stalking his way up towards her and leaving a comically-loud smooch on the tip of her nose as he kneels over her. Maka wishes she could shrink, take back her whole afternoon of shopping and admiring and preparing and just snuggle with him instead, maybe _not_ risk her dignity.

"Secrets, secrets, are no fun…" he mumbles with that stupid, shit-eating grin plastered across his lips as he walks one hand up to her fingers that hold up the comforter over her, carefully plucking at the covers to get them out of her hands—a battle they both know he'll win, eventually, whether Maka gives into him or he has to pry them off her himself.

"_Nooo_," she whines, and she's smiling under the covers, so Soul decides to nuzzle his nose against the apple of her cheek, kissing her smooth skin with his grinning lips.

"Just one little peek," he bargains, and tucks his head against her shrugged shoulder so he can tug he covers down and—oh my. He's beaming now, yanking his head up and smiling with those sneaky eyes of his; she can't tell if he's about to laugh in her face or if he really does like the fraction of a little strap he saw on her shoulder, and it makes her nervous.

"And you're not going to show it to me?"

"I don't… want you to laugh."

He laughs, _just like she fucking said not to_ _do_, but he doesn't mean it in a mean way, she notices as he gathers her up in the covers and peppers her darling face in all the kisses he can offer her. Soul tells her she's the cutest thing in the world, and that he's not stupid enough to laugh at her; he likes seeing her naked, he's not going to put that in jeopardy! And, yeah, his words are a little blunt, but Maka thinks it's a little nice that he's so honest with her, so she decides she'll show him.

The straps. She doesn't tug the covers down anymore more than past her clavicle.

Soul just kisses at her more, humming against her skin and reminding her that she is completely helpless to his love and affection, she was a goner to begin with.

"Stand up and show it to me," he murmurs against her collarbone, lips brushing her skin with every word. Maka nods, because she's past the point of arguing (although she is still pretty shy!), and pats his arm so he'll move from over top her, which Soul does instantly, fast as lightning—he's excited to see!

She shimmies out from her cocoon in the blankets, crossing her arms over her chest and looking down at her toes as she stands up next to the bed (_very_ aware of the completely-mirror closet door behind her) and begins reciting Pascal's Triangle in her head as she waits for Soul's judgment like it were the judgment of God himself.

"Don't look so gloomy, damn!"

And he's smiling at her, sitting at the edge of the bed and holding puts his hands, either for her to take or just to gesture to her, but she takes them in her own little palms, anyway. His eyes look her up and down, flicking from head to toe as fast as they can, over and over, memorizing every little detail.

It's lingerie, the frilly stuff, the sheer frilly stuff. Everything's white, the brassier, the garter belt, the stockings, but it looks nearly designed for her and her alone, it fits that perfectly. (Not to mention, her cups give her tits a nice little boost and a bit of cleavage Soul wouldn't mind stuffing his face into.) Her poor face is beet red, and she shifts a little nervously under his gaze, but he's afraid this is a one-time thing, so _he's going to take his damn time looking_.

"Model it a little," he tells her, and she thinks he's teasing her, so she almost tries to dive under the covers, but he just holds her hands and kisses the insides of her wrists—which, oh, smell like that classy perfume, the one she hardly ever puts on; she's sparing no expense tonight. "I wanna see."

So she takes her hands back, holds them out a little at her sides and turns a slow circle for him, particularly embarrassed when he groans at the back of her panties (which are more of a thong than anything), and she gasps when he runs his hands up her legs to hold her by the sides, kissing her tummy since it's really the only thing in his range, from where he's sitting. She sifts her fingers through his hair, flexes her toes against the carpet shyly.

"So," little cough, "do I just take it all off now? It was kind of a pain to get on… buckles and w-whatnot."

Soul looks up, laughs, then invites her into his lap, running his hands up her arms and pressing his nose to her neck, drinking in her perfume-sweet scent and mouthing at her collarbone lightly—she's simply too delectable!

"Maybe we could just—keep the stockings on," he mumbles, and his hands are already plucking at her bra and Maka's arching her chest against him before she nips on his earlobe to get him to cease in his excited actions, smiling when he groans and forfeits control of her brassier.

"_I've_ been like this all afternoon—how about _I_ undress _you_?"

He doesn't really answer, but him tilting his head back and sighing with a smile is good enough for her. She undoes his tie, kisses his throat in the same spot this morning when she tied it for him before she unbuttons his shirt, slow and carefully, kissing every inch between the buttons and making him shiver.

She gets up (and then kneels down between his legs) to get at his trousers, working the belt out through the loops and holding it in her hands in order to make a loud "smack!" when she yanks the halves together, grinning cheekily when Soul bites his lip and squirms; her control over him drives him crazy.

The belt is thrown aside and she widdles his pants and boxers down his legs, lets him kick them off as she slowly pumps him with a hand, kisses the tip of his knob and lets her tongue lick a slow path from base to tip that nearly makes his spine melt.

"You, too," he murmurs, and it's more like a plea, when she sees that desperate look in his eyes, the one that makes his lips part so perfectly and his eyebrows draw together in silent inquiry; he invites her to stand in front of him again, and she works on widdling her panties off, keeping the stockings on, just like he asked.

Speaking of stockings, those seem to be his favorite thing! His hands rub against them as she slowly balances herself on his shoulders to sink down on him; his lips press to hers in sloppy, breathy kisses as she moans at the sensation and he grunts in response—normal noises that would normally have them both giggling, but not at the current moment, all that matters now is her hips moving down against him and her moans against his ear as she pulls herself close to him. He gropes at her chest, kisses her throat and chokes out filthy things he really doesn't mean to say, but sometimes he gets a little carried away with asking her how much she enjoys taking his cock, and sometimes she answers with a guttural "so _fucking_ much" and other equally-filthy thing that make it okay.

Sex is always a little rougher when Maka's riding him, not because they mean to, but because Maka's always been the type to go big or go home, and if she's going to do the work, she expects a fucking fantastic reward, hopefully one that has her yelling Soul's name to the ceiling and being able to feel her pulse in her crotch afterwards. She rides hard, not that anyone's complaining, and Soul welcomes her eager grinds by cupping her ass in his hands, grunting out low noises that make her shiver; he has no idea what he does to her, he can't possibly understand!

She hits it after a few demanding grinds, "it" being an orgasm that nearly catches her off-guard, what with Soul asking obscene things in her ear and her somehow mindlessly responding. She yowls against his hair, tenses up, and puffs out her breaths when her head stops spinning and she can remember to think. Soul, however, has his face screwed up—she's left him hanging!—and Maka's quick to move herself off him and tap his knees.

"Lay back," she says, and she smiles, "I'll take care of it."

And it's a little sad he finds her so cute, but he does exactly as she says, and Maka makes herself comfy on her belly between his legs as she nearly-stuffs his dick into her mouth, excited to please him, excited to hear him moan her name in bliss. She swipes her tongue against him, kisses his shaft chastely; she doesn't think she has to be a slut to make him enjoy his cock in her mouth, he seems to get hard just when she fixes her shorts, or if she kisses on his hands and wrists (one of her favorite part of him). And, sure enough, it doesn't take much for him to ram his hips up into her face and yank her hair as he hollers out her name and a curse before she tastes bitter salt and skin, and swallows as fast as she can because, _gross_.

Their breathing is heavy in the bedroom, but it's also a little comforting, and a tiny bit humorous. Soul heaves, while Maka actually attempts to calm her heavy breaths, and she feels like a small child when Soul scoops his arms around her and pulls her up next to him, rubbing his hands on her smooth skin and kissing her softly, lovingly on the lips. She's too good to him.

"Sorry," he mumbles, "about gettin' in your face."

Maka laughs; he usually apologizes after blowjobs, not because he doesn't like them, but because he usually feels bad if he crushes her nose or slams his knee accidentally into her. She pats his cheek tiredly, and shakes her head.

"Don't be—we both had fun."

He places his hand on her hip (moreso her ass, actually) and holds her close, humming in content as his fingers drum slow, silent melodies out on her skin. When he falls asleep, Maka strips off the stockings (they feel too weird!) and her bra, and quietly pulls the covers over them, kissing Soul's chest before she places her cheek against him (she can feel the scar tissue against her skin, it's becoming more of a reassurance of life rather than a reminder of death that looms over them constantly, in this profession) and allows herself, too, to drift off.

However, she wakes up early in the morning to Soul kissing the insides of her thighs and mumbling about how he's got a debt to repay, and the air conditioner cranked up so high that she can actually _feel_ her tits (however small) freezing off.


End file.
